A satisfying morning...
I woke up today at 6:54 and set my alarm clocks to go off 15 minutes early at 7:45. I ran down to breakfast (breakfast!) and remembered how satisfying pancakes are in the morning. The dining hall was quiet, and I was amazed to have a friend come up to me when every other chair was empty. He wanted to me to see his comp sci project, but I told him I had an appointment with my most intimidating professor. I came back to my room and listened to music before I called my professor. At 8:42, I called, and he told me to come right over.
I've never been to 185 Nassau before. I had heard that it is isolated even farther than engineering. That it is its own world of art amidst Princeton. I hadn't really believed it. The entrance from the street was covered with orange construction tape. I went around to the back. The wood panels painfully creaked with every step I took. The walls were mostly bare white, except for various sections that were strewn with photographs or paintings. I would have been momentarily lost if I didn't recognize my philosophy professor's voice in his office.
When I first looked I became unsure that it was his office. It had the vast white purity and presence of light that I associate with art studios. At the center was a large wooden dinning table that could seat 12 people, washed over by papers and books. On one side was a gigantic bookshelf filled with books. The books didn't recede into the wall, like a library's bookshelf, but completely filled row upon row of metal casings. The books stunned me. The completely covered a wall from end to end, floor to ceiling. The books were of all types, not the consistent greens or maroons in libraries. Some pages were white, some were yellow, but all were frayed and handled. In contrast to the overflowing bookshelf was the bare wooden floor. Its emptiness was only broken by the 10-ft ladder in the office.
On the other side of the office was the side of the office was a wall full of movies. In one corner was the constant clicking and fluttering of a movie wheel. Professor Sitney apologized, and explained that it was doing a job for him. I remembered that my philosophy professor is also a film professor at Princeton. He then asked me to sit, and I took one of the two rolling chairs that seemed perfect for covering his expansive workspace.
He asked if I particularly enjoyed any book that we've been reading. When I said that I enjoyed reading Boethius, he went up to his bookshelf, and immediately picked out his Latin (I assume) version. He then opened to a a random page in Book 5, and began translating the Latin extemporaneously.
Princeton rules.
I've never been to 185 Nassau before. I had heard that it is isolated even farther than engineering. That it is its own world of art amidst Princeton. I hadn't really believed it. The entrance from the street was covered with orange construction tape. I went around to the back. The wood panels painfully creaked with every step I took. The walls were mostly bare white, except for various sections that were strewn with photographs or paintings. I would have been momentarily lost if I didn't recognize my philosophy professor's voice in his office.
When I first looked I became unsure that it was his office. It had the vast white purity and presence of light that I associate with art studios. At the center was a large wooden dinning table that could seat 12 people, washed over by papers and books. On one side was a gigantic bookshelf filled with books. The books didn't recede into the wall, like a library's bookshelf, but completely filled row upon row of metal casings. The books stunned me. The completely covered a wall from end to end, floor to ceiling. The books were of all types, not the consistent greens or maroons in libraries. Some pages were white, some were yellow, but all were frayed and handled. In contrast to the overflowing bookshelf was the bare wooden floor. Its emptiness was only broken by the 10-ft ladder in the office.
On the other side of the office was the side of the office was a wall full of movies. In one corner was the constant clicking and fluttering of a movie wheel. Professor Sitney apologized, and explained that it was doing a job for him. I remembered that my philosophy professor is also a film professor at Princeton. He then asked me to sit, and I took one of the two rolling chairs that seemed perfect for covering his expansive workspace.
He asked if I particularly enjoyed any book that we've been reading. When I said that I enjoyed reading Boethius, he went up to his bookshelf, and immediately picked out his Latin (I assume) version. He then opened to a a random page in Book 5, and began translating the Latin extemporaneously.
Princeton rules.